


OTP: Gasoline Fire During a Hurricane

by OrangeZest100



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeZest100/pseuds/OrangeZest100
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets for a 30 Day Challenge ranging from cutesy to painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	OTP: Gasoline Fire During a Hurricane

Here's the challenge:  [30 Day OTP Challenge, Non-fluffy Version](http://luciferious.tumblr.com/post/47061826810/30-day-otp-challenge)

***********

**Day 1 – Hands**

His hands are stolen, not only from a man but from a time period long past when the hands didn’t hold as many battle scars and didn’t raise unruly children or pull a wife off the top of a burning ceiling.  Her hands are stolen, but from whom he doesn’t know, but the calluses on her fingers seem new, like she formed them herself in war.  He still thinks it’s marvelous, the idea of hands and flesh bodies that work in set rhythms and ideas with the barest of thoughts, whether by human soul or angel grace or demon smoke.  Sometimes he is afraid to touch her with these hands, as if his Grace will seep out from between the pores of his fingertips and smite her where she stands, and he’ll be forced to watch as he consumes her whole until she no longer _is_.  Sometimes he thinks she’s afraid of it too, more a fear of an angel blade in her back then being burned alive from the body she’s laid claim too.  Still, Meg lets him hold her hand, and Michael looks out from stolen eyes at the humans who pass by them, giving shy smiles to the happy couple they perceive them to be.

**Day 2 – Elements**

Michael still hates that the “smell” of sulfur signifies the presence of a demon, considering the element itself is actually odorless.  He’s not sure exactly what the smell is (he’s not really that interested in human concepts of sensory input) but if anything was being registered by olfaction it would most likely be sulfur dioxide.  The smell of angels, however, is most likely the burning of O₃ (ozone, a triatomic element that also produces a smell during lightning storms).  So he doesn’t much notice if his (their) room smells of sulfur dioxide or burnt ozone, doesn’t trifle too much with the idea that their bodies are made of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, sulfur, and many other elements.  He wonders more on what elements make up his Grace what makes up Meg’s demon smoke to cause him to be so poisonous to her, even when they’re breathing human air in human skins.

**Day 3 – Books and Artifacts**

Meg hates tablets; hated them as soon as she heard about them from Crowley, hated them more after the Winchesters and Castiel, and she thinks she hates them most of all now that Michael is staring at them on the table, hand hovering just above their surface, afraid to touch the surface of a holy text.  She hates the way he looks at them, with reverence and pain, hates that she cares about it at all, and hates that they could lock her up forever if they wished to, if Michael wanted.  So ripping him away in a huff to read the books lining shelves is easier, even if Michael stares at her as she stares at book spines.  “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Spit it out Michael.”

“You seem to have a violent reaction to being here.”

“It’s a bunker for hunters.  I’m a demon.  See the problem their Feathers?”  Michael seems contemplative as she rips a random book from the shelf, turning the pages a bit too violently for its’ age, and she feels the press of his lips on her temple before he flies away.  She hates tablets.

**Day 4 – Dreams**

She doesn’t remember dreaming.  It has been way to long since she was a human, has spent too many hours and days and years and centuries in Hell to think of it as anything more than a fantasy, and she still can’t sleep.  Michael can’t sleep either.  So she supposes that they choose the alternate definition of dream to refer to: a goal.  _I’m talking cause douchebag, as in reason to get up in the morning?_   She doesn’t know what her dream is.  To see Crowley dead, absolutely; to take over Hell, possibly; to spend all of her time with the Winchesters, definitely not; and Michael…well that was the question, was it not?  What to do with Michael.  It’d be easier if he was dead, one less archangel that could smite her and he’s too much of a liability to keep around but she’s grown…fond.  (She’d torch the fondness out of herself if she could.)  For now he’s a valuable resource alive (only a resource, that’s all he is, it means nothing, you’re recreational activities mean _nothing_ ) and she can wait for the inevitable fall out.  Be prepared.

**Day 5 – A Kiss**

Michael’s favorite kiss is their first.  It blindsides him, and muscle memory deems to respond before he agrees in kind.  It’s hungry, like maybe Meg is trying to destroy him and teach him everything he doesn’t know simultaneously.  She’s a supernova, melting his face and binding his atoms together into new molecular structures.  In a fit of poetic fancy, he would say that Meg is trying to crawl inside him, carve him out and make herself a home in his ribcage, feeding off his breaths and his words and his blood.  It’s too much teeth and enough tongue to be labeled obscene and he grabbed her hips to pull her forward.  He wanted it to last forever.

~*~

Meg’s favorite kiss is their second.  She knows what she’s doing then, why she’s doing it, calculated (not because she liked the last, absolutely not).  She’s soft, gentle before escalating it.  _Sweet_.  He’s sweet as well, cups her face with gentle hands to pull her forward, tip her face up.  She hates it (of course she does, she doesn’t _want_ to be protected or funneled into human insecurities like love) and she fights back.  She becomes an animal because _she_ is not a petty human and he is not one either; they are concepts funneled into human flasks.  He still is _soft_ against her ferocity, as if he forms his seeming affection into gentleness and she channels hers in rage.  It’s paradoxically opposite and fits together like a well fitted sleeve.  It’s perfect.

**Day 6 – Costume/Character Swap**

Meg hates the humans and the demons.  Respects them, yes, she is an archangel but she has a dislike for them that stretches throughout her Grace since her father made them.  She just wasn’t stupid enough (like Lucifer) to say anything about it.  Michael cannot see humanity as an equal, twisted from that ideal so long ago that it’s almost not recognizable.  There’s something fascinating about them though, in the way they let their little clocks tick on by.  Maybe that’s why Meg is fascinating, Heaven’s greatest weapon wrapped in human skin and fitting meaning into the boxes of human languages that can do nothing to describe the true meaning of her intent.  Meg thinks he’s interesting in the way a beloved hammer is interesting; a weapon and a tool but the tool likes intimacy, touching her like she’s glass and kissing like he can break the unbreakable.  If she can break she wants to shatter to pieces so that shards of her are imbedded in his skin, so he has to carve her out with a knife and covering himself in blood.  If he wants togetherness, he can never escape; that’s the rules in the game he doesn’t know he’s playing and she won’t give him up without ruining him first.

**Day 7- Weapons and Armor**

They’re groups big enough that splitting up to hunt a giant nest of Crowley’s demons is not difficult, but Meg and Michael chase several of them into a side building, sealing all the exits but one.  They pause outside the door and Michael reaches out a hand to stroke her cheek (she won’t turn into it, she _won’t_ ) before pressing something into her hand.  She brings it up to eye level.  Meg knows what it means (Lucifer explained it once, the level of trust that comes from an archangel handing their blade to another, as well as human language can explain) but she wishes she didn’t.  She doesn’t want this kind of responsibility (can’t handle it, there’s a line between what they are and what this is).  Meg needs to protest this, even as Michael keeps stealing looks at her from where’s he’s standing in borrowed skin staring at the building.  “No.”

“You can’t kill them by yourself, and I’m not letting them kill you.  Soldiers don’t leave other soldiers defenseless and behind.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Well, you have it now.”  That fucking means something and she hates that too, the implications of billions of years pushed into the sapiens’ English and passing into her thousands of years of tortured memory, and she will hurt him for this.  It’s a promise she makes as she drives the blade into a brother’s skull.

**Day 8 – Sins**

Meg loves pulling him down to her level, away from his moral high ground, this holy being full of divinity and celestial intent that deems it necessary to wrap itself in human skin.  Meg’s an _excellent_ sinner; she’s been at it for a while.  She’s got him wrapped around her vessels little fingers, a marionette as far as you can make an archangel a marionette.  He had wrath and pride and murder already but she’s gotten lust out of him, and thusly fornication coupled with blasphemy.  She’s almost at a point where she can add ‘worshipping false idols’ and she’ll take the title of ‘false idol’ gladly.  She thinks he doesn’t mind sinning, not when he’s mouthing her clit or when she has her fingers in his ass, not even when he’s whispering Enochian into the flesh of her stomach and silently screaming as he comes.  Yes, Michael will make an excellent sinner when Meg is done with him, and she’ll make him one of the best sinners there are.

**Day 9 – Virtues**

Michael loves pulling her up, showing her the beauty of the universe; if she can shatter light into colors like a prism than she can see and make light if she so wished, and Michael is determined to show her the light of his Father and the world.  He has shown her Love, hopes to show her Faith, Hope, Charity, Justice, Humility and others.  He will polish her until she shines, and even if she is still black, he will make her polished onyx that burns others to the ground with its’ beauty.  He has no allusions, she was created in sin, and though it pains him in every way imaginable he will not burn that from her.  He can’t, can’t kill her to make her pure, wouldn’t dare, but he’s going to get as close as possible, even if she poisons him in the process.

**Day 10 – Monsters**

They fight monsters, day in and day out, sometimes with friends and family, sometimes with each other, sometimes alone, and they accept a lot about themselves and their long lives, but the true monster that tears them to pieces from the inside and feeds on them, is their love.  For Meg, she has lived thousands of years in fire and pain and loathing and love is taboo to demons.  It’s a vague memory, it doesn’t exist, and it was tortured out of them.  Demons cannot love, or so they say, so they forget what love is and cannot name the thing that swallows them with maw open wide.  Angels were made to love God, love humanity, and Michael does, as much as he can, adores his Father and his siblings and humanity, even in their faults, but to _love_ another as human suggest is out of the question.  It doesn’t exist, in not in their make-up, and Michael doesn’t believe any of the others when they say they’ve found it.  Angels cannot _love_ and they cannot love demons just as demons can no longer love, let alone love angels.  They consume themselves with this feeling they are convinced they do not have, convince themselves that it’s self-preservation to remain good friends, that being _together_ is simply a sin that they fall into, that their stolen hearts breaking at their feet is not because the other is far away or just in sight, and so it burns them.  As Hell does and Falling would, they let the fire burn what they are, and others look upon them with pain, for them to know what love is without knowing how to explain it.

**Day 11 – Post-Apocalypse**

They have very little water left, but it doesn’t matter much anymore, they expected to be dead a long time ago.  Michael thought he was going to die when Heaven left; Meg when she betrayed the cause.  It’s a miracle that Lucifer hadn’t found them yet, and a smaller miracle that Dean and Castiel hadn’t either.  Either way, they were most likely dead.  When they lay down every night, Meg staring at the leaves or the stars or the roofs, she pretends she doesn’t hear Michael’s whispered prayers to his Father.  Meg doesn’t pray; she doesn’t believe in much anymore.  Michael stares at the water bottle that’s now empty, sad and longing, wondering at his fate.  Meg leans over from wear she is, presses a kiss to Michael’s neck and whispers “one more time for old sake baby, and then we can end it”.  There love-making isn’t special or spectacular, they just stay silent, staring at each other and when they flop back to the ground, they simply nod and pray to the only thing that can hear prayers anymore.

“Look at what has found its’ way to me, dear brother and darling daughter,” says Lucifer through the Winchester’s mouth.  Meg doesn’t even scream as Grace burns her alive.  Lucifer stares at her a moment before turning to Michael, shoving his blade into his chest.  Michael dies simply mouthing “I’m sorry”.

**Day 12 – A Spell**

Meg looks over from the window when Michael sets the bowl down, lays the ingredients out on the table in an orderly fashion, but she raises an eyebrow when he starts _preparing_ them.  “What do you think you’re doing Feathers?”

“I’m working a spell.”

“When have you _ever_ worked a spell?”

“It’s only been a few millennia-“

“ _Millenia?_   Oh no, move over _I’m_ doing the spell.”

“You weren’t even a witch, I am perfectly capable of-“

“Don’t you _dare_ Feathers, I’ve worked more spells then you have, I’m going to-“

“Meg don’t be ridiculous-“

“Michael I _swear_ -“  They’re standing inches from each other (again, they always end up inches from each other) and the spell ingredients lie half-forgotten on the table beside them, Michael staring at her eyes, Meg staring at his lips.  Michael considers, as he always does, for each action must be weighed to its’ full potential before it is executed, before raising a hand to cup her face, pull her eyes upward so that they are staring at each other.

“Meg, I _can_ work this spell.”

“Well don’t expect _me_ to come find you if you get transported halfway around the world.”  (She does anyway.)

**Day 13 – Costumes**

They have practice at wearing different people, their mannerisms and personalities applied to their voices and skin and muscles, in order to fool others, in order to get into crime scenes and ask questions of witnesses.  So it’s actually quite easy to convince the real estate agent that they’re here for the open house, honest, they just had some car trouble really (the things a piece of junk) and they’re sorry if they interrupted anything.  She buys it easily, and they know she’s not being possessed, and they know when the demons spot Meg (they’re not blind).  So Meg slips upstairs, draws them away from the people and Michael knows she’s safe; she can handle herself after all and she has his archangel blade hidden in her jacket.  Michael hates wearing these second skins, these second personalities, although it’s easy for him, it’s easy for Meg, he hates seeing her pretend to be something else.  (Is it loving her if he doesn’t feel like they’re eating each other alive?)  Slipping upstairs in this visage is easy, just a newlywed worried about his new wife.  They’re already at her feet and she just smiles, twirls the blade, opens her mouth to brag, but he’s behind her now to smite the one sneaking up behind.  She said she left that one for him.  He knows to let her keep those costumed words.

**Day 14 – Genderswap**

“I think I like mine.  He has short hair; he’s tan.”  Michael just stares from where she’s below her.  They haven’t even taken their clothes off.  “You tell her that you need her as a vessel so you can have kinky sex with your girlfriend?”

“I don’t think this counts as-“

“Of course it does Feathers; people don’t just switch gender or gender roles like this for sex without it being kinky.”  He likes his voice too, some door-to-door salesman with no life and no future.  He knows Michael’s is some single woman who lives alone with her cats.  He knows that when his tongue digs into Michael’s mouth, it’s her that moans and bucks up as always, his hands going to her waist, and Meg will enjoy this, he thinks.  “We’re not even going to change names are we baby?”  He says sickeningly sweet, the same tone he always uses, the one thing that doesn’t change form a female vessel to a male one.  “Fuck with that pretty little head of yours; and besides, new bodies, new orgasms, huh baby?”  Michael lets out a whimper.

**Day 15 – Canon-based Wildcard _(Falling)_**

“Michael,” Meg screams, and the corner store is on fire, there aren’t houses for miles and bodies are littering the road.  He’d been right beside her; why is her left ear ringing?  Reaching up with a hand to touch, she hisses, and it comes away bloody.  Too shocked and startled to understand what bleeding _means_ at the moment, she leaves a hand on her hand in an effort to make it stop.  “Michael?!”  She starts going in one direction, limping because her leg _hurts_ but she has to find Michael.  She jumps when there’s a hand on her shoulder, spins to hold her fist in the air but it’s the face she’s looking for, with a sluggishly bleeding head wound and a dislocated shoulder, but Michael nonetheless.  She hugs him before she’s thinking about it, even though he hisses with the arm, only pulling away when he feels concrete enough to be real.  “You’re bleeding; why are you bleeding?  Oh my god, you-“

“You’re bleeding to,” he says, looks sad and she decides she hates it already, the blood pumping in her veins, blasting adrenaline and fear through her system, pushing through and out of her body, the pain in her leg, the _emotions,_ and the way Michael is looking at her, like she’s injured him and saved him all at once.  They both flinch when the headlights of the Impala show up and Dean’s barely stopped before the entire bunker crew is out of the car: Dean, Sam, Adam, Kevin, Lucifer, Castiel.  The last stumbles on his way out, still not used to his all too human limbs and Meg _never_ wants that to be her.  Lucifer reaches them first, and in one once over _understands_ and on his face is a look of horror.  Sam is the second, swearing under his breath before explaining to the others.  Meg closes her eyes, grabs Michael’s hand carefully, on his uninjured arm, wishes them away with all her might.

“We can fix it,” Lucifer is saying, but it sounds more like begging, and Meg knows they can’t, just as Michael’s hand squeeze tells her that he knows too.

**Day 16 – Rituals**

Michael wonders if there’s some ancient ritual or spell on some tablet or some scroll hidden deep within the library of the Men of Letters that would allow him to touch her.  Human bodies are not _touching_ as he has known it for millennia, but for encompassing light of him to touch the dark smoke of her she would cease to exist, and that is even more unbearable.  So he touches as much as he can, as much as he’s let, at every point of the day because he doesn’t sleep, and sometimes in the darkened hours of the early morning he just sits, with her head in his hands, rubbing his borrowed fingers along her borrowed skin, and attempts to see past the flesh he wears.  Sometimes he considers praying, as if participating in a foolish practice to a deserted figure will afford him any peace of mind or provide him with a solution.  (He realizes how much like his brother this makes him sound, but he refuses to dwell on it.)  She asked him once, in a fit of annoyance, in those quite hours when he tries to divine a solution from the feel of her skin and the color of her eyes, exactly what he kept doing it for, why they did it at all.  He explained, and she doesn’t bring it up anymore, though she did joke once that maybe she just has to have enough _faith_.  He won’t take that chance; won’t take the chance that for once his Father was kind.

**Day 17 – A Special Occasion**

It’s an all-out war between them and these demons, the others fighting desperately just as they do, and Meg can fell Michael at her back, where they work like perfectly timed and synchronized clock pieces to dodge and attack in this maelstrom of enemy fire.  She can feel it over them, hanging like a cloud, and she somehow knows that even if Kevin does manage to finish his spell, all of them are most likely dead again.  Then Michael spins her around, kisses her, right in the middle of a ring of dead bodies, and even as he does smites someone to her right.  He pulls back as she stabs someone behind her with his blade, and his eyes look sad and full of hope and derision and she hates the duality of him and how his natural angel-ness desperately hopes for many things.  “Marry me,” and Meg doesn’t expect those words out of her mouth, nearly a rejection of her very creation, of her very demon-ness, because she lost love in order to be created.  He blinks a few times and they kill a few more demons before Michael is yelling.

“Adam!”  The young man diverts his attention from the foes, nods slightly in acknowledgement so that they’re aware he hears.  “Marry us!”

“Are you two crazy, we’re in the middle of fighting a war!”

“I know,” shouts Michael loudly, positively, smites another demon, and they’re going to have to move these bodies soon if they want to attack anyone.  “That’s why it’s the perfect time.”  Adam frowns but seems to give an exasperated sigh.

“Do you Michael take the demon Meg to be your life partner?”

“I do!”

“Do you Meg take the archangel Michael to be your life partner thing?”  Meg almost laughs because they’re cover in blood and fighting demons and getting _married_.

“Of course!”

“I now pronounce you demon and archangel; you may kiss.”  They do, passionately, and the demons are either ignoring them completely or they’re being nice because they leave them alone just long enough.  “Okay, can we focus on not dying now?”  Meg grins.

**Day 18 – Working Together**

Adam got to watch them fight together once, and later he would describe it to others as dancing or ice skating or synchronized swimming.  When they fought together, they fought _together_ , so in tune to each other’s thoughts that it was glorious to watch.  Michael wielded his Grace through his stolen body like a dancer, each burst of light in time with each step and each raised hand, perfectly timed so that Meg won’t see or be harmed.  Meg wields Michael’s angel blade like an extension of her stolen body, an extension of the black smoke that inhabits, wields it with professional expertise and like she’s owned it her entire life.  They don’t speak and it’s almost as if the movements themselves become a language that only they speak.  When they’re done, covered in blood and dead bodies they simply turn to stare at each other.  Michael pecks her cheek and Meg pulls a face, slaps his ass, and Michael just laughs, like the two of them are the easiest things in the world.

**Day 19 – Mythological Figures**

“So if these ghosts are attacking people that remind them of Greek myths all of us our out of this fight, especially Michael and Meg,” muses Adam, staring down at the notes strewn before the group in the middle of the bunker library.

“What?!”  Meg is already standing and glaring, though Michael seems to be debating on reigning her in.

“Oh common, you two reek of the Hades and Persephone myth.  Well, gender-swapped, but nevertheless.  Perfect son adored by his father is enticed into a relationship with the dark queen of the deep.  Michael is Persephone and you’re Hades, it’s _obvious_.”  Adam continues staring at notes while Michael’s face is actually going red and Meg looks dumbstruck.  She gets her revenge by stabbing Adam in the hand later.

**Day 20 – Horror**

Meg thinks she likes it best when Michael picks.  They’re always happy bubbly people, and they tend to scream pretty.  The first scream is always the best, when Michael blitzes her from behind to get her into their car.  The second is mellow in comparison, when she wakes up strapped down to a table to two pairs of eyes watching her.  Meg’s in it for the blood and the screaming and the begging and the writhing and the sheer _rush_ of it all.  Michael’s in it to watch, and he loves watching, gives her instructions sometimes even.  Meg kissed a kidnap-ee before, all in the sake of Michael’s happiness.  Daddy always did say the best way to get caught was to fall for someone, but Meg thinks her dad is bullshit and it’s too late anyway.   When she’s done Michael cleans the blood off her hands with his lips and tongue, and she gets to shove her strap on in his ass, having stretched beforehand, rough and hard against the walls with a dead body feet away from them.  Yes, for a serial killer, she sure loves it when her lover picks her next victim.

**Day 21 – Steampunk**

“Just put it _on_ Feathers.”

“I thought you said this show was, what was it…cowboys in space?  Doesn’t that already make it steampunk or whatever the word is?”

“Shut up and put the costume on Michael or I _swear_.”

“Alright, alright hold on.”

“And _Firefly_ is a cult classic you asshole.  Besides, we’re incorporating elements of the show into Victorian era dress along with general steampunk elements.  Really Michael.”

“Oh shut up.”

**Day 22 – Sci-fi/Fantasy ( _Star Wars_ )**

Michael knows there are reasons that Jedi are forbidden personal attachment, forbidden love, because it’s so easy to turn to the Dark Side that way but he can’t seem to care now that he’s kissing her.  She’s like a drug to him, and she knows it, but Meg hasn’t asked for anything he cannot take back, not yet.  When the chancellor asks him to betray his kind or she dies, he does the opposite of what he should, what he wants to, and he dies trying to kill the man before he can be twisted upon no return, before he can issue an order to harm her.  Meg never knows.

**Day 23 – Fighting**

“You’re a selfish asshole you know that?”

“I’m the selfish one?”  They’ve been edging around each other for days, driving everyone else in the bunker nuts with the avoidance but whatever argument they’re having is coming to a head in front of everyone.  They bicker all the time but this one is different, an all-out screaming match with Meg’s eyes black and Grace sparking at Michael’s fingertips.  “You take and take and take from me and I give, how is this any different?”

“I asked you to marry me not make me a cake, how is this not different?  This isn’t just some stupid human ritual to me, this is a formal union to me under _your father_ –whom I hate –and I want to be connected with you, you idiot!”  Michael falls silent, as does the room, and he reaches out a shaky hand that Meg bats away.

“That’s what you asked me?”

“Yes.”

“Your Enochian is off; I thought you asked for an elephant.”  Megs lets out a peal of hysterical laughter as they hug.  Michael whispers “yes” into her hair.

**Day 24 – Tending to Wounds**

Michael doesn’t need tending to, neither does Meg, but they tend to the others, silently and with focus, lingering touches in the interim between patients.  They deal with the emotional aftermath afterwards, heavy kisses and rough touch, grabbing what they can to reassure.  It’s the few times that Michael tops, eager to please and be a solid rock and Meg never minds.  Everyone has their own ways of dealing.  Meg deals in kisses like cards, kisses every inch of skin, and swallows every sound he could make as he fucks into her.

**Day 25 – Death**

“NO,” Meg screams, the sound echoing throughout the battlefield, draw the action to a brief stop.  It was supposed to be a simple vampire nest, not a demon nest and no one’s been dealing well with the ambush.  Across the field from Meg Michael chokes, stares down at the angel blade in his chest, stolen from Lucifer’s hand as the Devil lies unconscious near his feet.  Meg’s moving before she recognizes she is, moves as quickly as only a demon can, slays her brethren as she goes, catches Michael as he falls.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers, Grace leaking out from his eyelids and the only reason he’s still alive must be because they missed his heart.  “Please.”

“No you can’t leave, you _can’t_ ,” she whispers, but in the last second, between a last breath and the explosion of Grace, she closes her eyes.  None of the demons make it out alive except for the one who killed him; she tortures that one for three days.

**Day 26 – Redemption**

She finds redemption in his laugh, when she’s funny enough to warrant his laugh.  She finds redemption in the way he says her name, when his fingers slide into hers.  Meg finds that redemption she’s been searching for in the very essence of him; his gestures, his voice, in his faith that she mocks and hates and envies.  Someday she will be worthy of his touch, his Grace, the attention he defers her, and someday these small moments of redemption will truly redeem her.

He finds redemption for his ignorance in her.  His love for her will make up for the thousands of years he spent against God, somehow.  The curve of her spine, the touch of her hair, the taste of her lips; in the very way she makes him sin.  Michael finds redemption in her, in what she shows him, the very humanity of Earth.  Someday, her very demonic-ness will infect him, and he can be truly whole and redeemed once again.

**Day 27 – A Long Journey**

Silent footsteps on the grit of asphalt,

In between yellow lines they

Grasp hands, fingers locked

And walk slowly into Heaven.

**Day 28 – Religion**

“Exactly like that, yes,” Michael mutters, mirrors her movements so they’re both kneeling, heads down, hands clasped.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Anything you like.”

“He’s your father.”

“Meg.”  She sighs, stays kneeling in silence, mind blank.  In the end it’s the simple thing in the world to ask God to protect His own son.

**Day 29 – Insanity**

Michael doesn’t talk since the moment they realize Meg is raving.  She’s been seeing demons: Azazel, Alastair, Ruby, Lilith, even Abaddon.  They’ve been looking for a cure, well the others are, but Michael just sits silently near her and lets her spew filth and hate at him, let’s himself be the object of her hallucinations in lieu of anyone else.  They’re going to destroy each other before they get better.

**Day 30 – Alternate Universe Wildcard  ( _High School AU)_**

They lay staring at the night sky, playing footsie in the back of Meg’s old pickup.  Meg sighs, props herself up on an elbow to look down at him, presses a kiss to his temple.  Michael laughs.  “I thought you were supposed to be the bad girl not the country girl next door.”

“Don’t be sexist, I can be both.”  She kicks off her cowboy boots, slides a barefoot up Michael’s shin.  “I can definitely be both.”  She moves to straddle him, hitches up her summer dress to account for the movement.

“I- ah- have a curfew,” Michael mutters as Meg starts kissing his neck. 

“So?”

“You have a curfew.”  Meg shrugs, pulls a condom out of her bra.  “Meg…”

“Just shut up and have sex with me.  I’ll turn the radio up if it makes you feel better.”

“We’re not having sex to Country’s Top 40.”  Meg sighs.

“Your loss.”


End file.
